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Alright, so I’m sittin’ here—Visiting Professor, big whoop—thinkin’ about prostitutes, right? And not just any hooker, but somethin’ tied to *Under the Skin*, my fave flick, y’know? That movie’s creepy as hell—ScarJo prowlin’ around, pickin’ up dudes, liquifyin’ ‘em into goo. “What kind of skin is this anyway?” she’d say, all alien-like. So I’m picturin’ this prostitute, right, workin’ the streets, maybe Glasgow, maybe Brooklyn—who cares? Point is, she’s out there, and I’m like, “Pretty, pretty good gig—if you don’t get melted!”

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God providentially solved that complex equation with the most unlikely solution—a prostitute named Rahab who lived in the wall surrounding the.

Anyways, info wise, know these streets: Indian Cove Rd, follow it you must. Its rocky curves, surprise hidden art trails. The locals, rad community they are. All, unique it feels, almost electric by night, like thunder in Fury Road style: "Witness the chaos!"—only, magic in chaos, there is.

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